Chapter 7 - The Car Larry Never Reported Missing
Larry denied it immediately.
“Amelia was driving her own car.”
They were back at the Caldwell house after midnight. The party decorations had been removed, but the air still smelled faintly of frosting and flowers.
Price placed Martin’s phone on the table.
“The accident report lists a gray Caldwell sedan registered to your company.”
Larry stared at the screen.
“We had two similar cars.”
“Which one did Amelia usually drive?”
“The blue one.”
Brooke sat across from him.
“Was the gray car yours?”
“Yes.”
“Then why was she driving it?”
“I don’t remember.”
Bethany stood near the window with an officer beside her. She had become quiet since learning what was found beneath the field.
Larry rubbed his forehead.
“That week was chaos. Amelia said someone had been following her. She changed routes, switched cars, stopped using the same phone.”
“You never told the police that,” Price said.
“I didn’t know until later.”
“Later when?”
“After the funeral, I found notes in her desk.”
“What happened to them?”
Larry looked toward Bethany without meaning to.
Everyone noticed.
Bethany’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t look at me.”
Larry stood.
“The notes disappeared after you moved in.”
“I threw away old papers because you asked me to clear the office.”
“I asked you to organize it.”
“You said you wanted a fresh start.”
Brooke felt sick.
“How soon after Mom died did you meet Bethany?”
Larry’s face tightened.
“Eight months.”
Bethany answered at the same time.
“Almost a year.”
The difference was small, but the hesitation was not.
Price leaned forward.
“How did you meet?”
“At a charity auction,” Larry said.
Bethany looked at him.
“That isn’t where we met.”
Larry frowned.
“You introduced yourself at the auction.”
“We spoke earlier at the hotel bar.”
“I wasn’t at the hotel bar.”
Bethany realized too late that she had made a mistake.
Price’s gaze became intent.
“Which hotel?”
She folded her arms.
“I don’t remember.”
Brooke watched her.
“You knew Dad before Mom died.”
“No.”
“You knew Martin before Mom died.”
“I knew his company.”
“You knew details from the crash.”
“Because Larry talked about it constantly.”
Larry shook his head.
“I barely spoke about the accident. You always said dwelling on it was unhealthy.”
Bethany’s controlled expression began to fracture.
“You were grieving. Your memory is unreliable.”
Price stood.
“Mrs. Caldwell, I’m requesting that you come to the station voluntarily.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll seek a warrant.”
“For what? Knowing a financial adviser?”
“For fraud, identity theft, conspiracy, obstruction, and potentially more once we examine the orchard evidence.”
Bethany laughed once.
“You have no proof.”
Nora entered from the kitchen holding Brooke’s laptop.
She had spent the evening helping Rebecca copy files from Evan’s damaged computer.
“Maybe we do.”
She placed the laptop on the table.
“When Evan’s laptop fell, it automatically synchronized a recent folder to the house network. I found cached copies.”
Brooke opened the files.
The spreadsheet she had seen in Evan’s room appeared.
Transfers stretched across eight years.
Funds moved from Brooke’s trust-linked assets into shell companies, then into accounts belonging to Martin, Bethany, and others.
Larry’s name appeared as an authorization source, but each signature timestamp occurred when he was traveling.
Rebecca examined the data.
“These transfers total nearly four million dollars.”
Evan stared at his mother.
“You said the money came from investments.”
Bethany said nothing.
One file contained scanned signatures.
Larry’s.
Brooke’s.
Even Amelia’s.
Another folder was labeled VEHICLE.
Inside were photographs of the gray sedan before Amelia’s accident.
A man crouched beside the rear wheel.
His face was turned away.
The next photograph showed the brake line.
Price zoomed in.
It had been partially cut.
Larry gripped the back of a chair.
“They killed her.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Price said.
“Yes, we do.”
Bethany moved toward the hallway.
The officer blocked her.
Brooke opened another photograph.
This one had been taken through a windshield.
Amelia stood outside the Caldwell house talking to someone near the garage.
The person’s face was visible.
Young.
Blond.
Wearing a burgundy coat.
Bethany.
Larry looked at his wife as though he had never seen her before.
“You met Amelia.”
Bethany’s lips trembled.
“No.”
“The photograph is clear.”
“It’s manipulated.”
Evan stepped away from her.
“Mom.”
“It is not real.”
Nora opened the file properties.
“The photograph was created eleven years ago.”
Bethany looked around the room.
Her gaze stopped on Brooke.
“You think you’ve won.”
Brooke rose.
“This is not about winning.”
“It has always been about winning. Amelia won Larry. She won the house. She won the land. And after she died, she still made certain her daughter would inherit everything.”
Larry’s voice was barely audible.
“What did you do?”
Bethany’s eyes filled with tears.
For a moment, Brooke thought she might confess.
Then every light in the house went out.
Glass shattered in the kitchen.
The officer beside Bethany shouted.
A door slammed.
When the emergency lights came on, Bethany was gone.
On the dining room table, Martin’s phone began ringing.
Brooke answered.
May you like
Bethany whispered, “Your mother was alive after the crash.”
Then the call ended.
